This article uses the Resident Evil movie as the story background
The heroine time travels to a female police officer in Resident Evil. This article starts from the movie
Sorry guys, I've been busy recently and can't keep up with daily updates for the time being. I'll probably update every two or three days.
Reader comments
June 30, 1957
Albus——
Well, your last letter was too blunt. I feel like you're a little tired of me? Will it be me who makes you unhappy this time? Or are you worried about the choices you have to make? After all, in the wizarding world, being a self-proclaimed leader is really troublesome. Or are you worried about Voldemort? Do you think what I said is too to the point?
Okay, don't think about this, Albus, let me tell you a story.
Every late at night, when the moon shines brightly, I lie on the thin mattress and toss and turn, watching the crescent moon slowly sinking into the mountains and fading out of sight. The cold air at night spreads from the wall to the floor and spreads throughout my body. I let myself swim freely in the long-lasting memories. Of course, I don't have a Pensieve—there's no magic here except for the accurate watch—but I still have my memory. Yes, when I look back on the past, the first things that come to mind are always the little things - the old wand before I found "it", or the woodwork I looted many years ago, which was originally hanging on the wall of a Muggle room, or the toad I had as a child. I also often relive special moments to comfort myself.
I think I have a pretty good memory, but of course it can't be compared to a pensieve. Missing me again - little conveniences in the magical world, I don't know what to do without them. Those times that I reminisce over and over again are almost worn out in my mind - but I heard that constantly reminiscing about the past can enhance my memory. That may be true, but even so - I still forgot something.
Through my worn-out memory, I vaguely saw that it was midsummer, and Aberforth and Ariana stayed at home. We walked along the waterwheel diversion channel built by Muggles, strolled by the stream in Godric's Hollow, and discussed in depth how to modify the conservation laws in the blood curse. When passing by the windows of those elders, we would bend down and slip by in tacit agreement. After walking for a while, we sat side by side by the stream, took off our boots, dipped our feet in the water and dangled back and forth. You were playing with a silver knife - with your soft and beautiful hands - and you whispered that we had better find the Resurrection Stone first.
At that time, we were guessing how much magic a drop of blood could stir up. So you pierced your thumb, and the blood immediately condensed into beads, bright red and charming under the sunlight. This makes me excited. I dipped the tip of the wand into the bright red between your fingers, and the blood droplets disappeared in an instant. The power that came from it made my hair stand on end and my whole body shook. Damn it - there is nothing more convenient than this. Even manipulating fate can't compare to how exciting it is. There is no Muggle-like nonsense, only the vibration of the soul and the instinctive pleasure. This is what I miss most about magic. You, you must still have this power, you have always been so strong and so talented. The magic burns every cell in your body, even beyond sex - can you still feel that simple and primitive pleasure after so many years?
But - looking back at the memory. We were there, your blood melting into my wand, and I tore a hollow piece of wood into thousands of silk ribbons with a flick of my wrist, effortlessly yet so powerfully. Then you handed me the knife, and I pressed it back into your hand. We were close to each other, breathing together, and you scratched my thumb with the blade - in short, you have to try it the other way around.
Then you lit the water with my blood, so touching, just like you.
We laughed and took notes, then slowly put out the fire. I already began to imagine applying this beautiful magic to the Dark Curse; I hummed the incantation under my breath. We were partners, but we had never thought about tapping into this latent power in each other—giving each other our blood willingly, and you know what that means.
Afterwards we lay panting by the river embankment. I lay in your lap and you absentmindedly ran your hands through my hair and tangled it around your fingertips. The sun was bright, the bushes were lush, and the knife thrown on the grass shimmered. We chatted happily, and then I mentioned looking for the artifact—
"Look for the resurrection stone first," you said.
I moved, looked up at you, and asked curiously, "Why?"
"Because once we have... Even their ghosts, just ghosts coming back."
Like a kitten, I gently fiddled with your hanging hair, "Albus, this is pointless."
You have no explanation. I guess you want your parents to come back and take care of Aberforth and Ariana, and then you can fly away with me?
I thought at that time, how considerate you are, this is not ironic.
After that, we talked some more, but that's not why I remember that day. The reason is that you stood up suddenly at that time, causing me to fall off your lap, and then you cast a hiding spell around us.
When I put the entire memory into writing, the memory became even longer and blurry.
If I remember correctly, before this, we had touched each other clumsily like children. But by that stream, your hair was better than fire in the sunshine. Because of the concealment of magic and the buzz of insects in the bushes, we pleased each other for the first time. Although it is difficult to put it into writing, I will never forget it - at that time, you took off your gold-rimmed glasses and smiled at me, innocent and cunning. You stared at me, as if inadvertently, sliding one side of the glasses over your lips, so hungry and so heart-wrenching. Then you took off your robe, then your cotton undershirt, and I remember laughing, surprised and delighted, and telling you that the water here was too shallow to swim.
You were incredibly beautiful back then, and so was I - from the look in your eyes, I could see that you were fascinated by me. But now, I'm afraid we are all old, withered, withered, and unforgivable and unforgivable.
Our robes were pillowed against the bushes, and there were ants crawling around the hems of the robes. We groped each other awkwardly and greedily. When I touch you, you feel like your soul is flying out of your body, trembling with excitement. We all have fair skin that can easily turn red with pleasure. I remember holding your face tightly with my hands, watching you being overwhelmed by the feverish pleasure, your face flushed, and my heart beating like a drum beating like a deer hitting, I couldn't help myself, because you are mine.
Do you still remember, I used my hands to seduce you? One hand pulled your hair hard to make you lean back, while the other hand held it. Under my teasing, you couldn't help but scream for me. Remember all this? Or are you still feeling shy?
You panted and turned over, wiping off the green leaves that had been splashed all over your body by the blades of grass during your orgasm. Your limbs were limp and weak but you were laughing endlessly, still wanting to finish. I still remember, I was lying among the pile of messy robes, and you leaned over, your hair gently scraping my skin, your fingers tightly wrapped around it, from the tip to the root, your lips slipped across it and included it. At that moment, fireworks exploded, it was indescribable -
Later, covered with sticky sweat, sun kisses and grass juice, we felt like we were children again, chasing each other, laughing and cursing. At that moment - we were lying side by side, your head in my arm, and I said, "Look at that cloud, it looks like a drunken Hippogriff, Merlin is up there, but luckily Bagshot can't see what we look like now," and then you said -
I forgot.
Albus, this keeps me up at night and haunts me. I couldn't help but think of the story I once heard about a ghost who had forgotten the last line of his favorite poem and would not rest until a wandering scholar recited it. My old friend, you have a pensieve.
By the way, I also told you about that guy Voldemort. You owe me.
Best wishes,
Gellert Grindelwald
Dane, a bastard, still likes warm men like Luo Wei. . .
80% At one time and 90% at another... How much is it?
June 30, 1957 Albus—— Well, your last letter was too blunt. I feel like you're a little tired of me? Will it be me who makes you unhappy this time? Or are you worried about the choices you have to make? After all, in the wizarding world, being a self-proclaimed leader is really troublesome. Or are you worried about Voldemort? Do you think what I said is too to the point? Okay, don't think about this, Albus, let me tell you a story. Every late at night, when the moon shines brightly, I lie on the thin mattress and toss and turn, watching the crescent moon slowly sinking into the mountains and fading out of sight. The cold air at night spreads from the wall to the floor and spreads throughout my body. I let myself swim freely in the long-lasting memories. Of course, I don't have a Pensieve—there's no magic here except for the accurate watch—but I still have my memory. Yes, when I look back on the past, the first things that come to mind are always the little things - the old wand before I found "it", or the woodwork I looted many years ago, which was originally hanging on the wall of a Muggle room, or the toad I had as a child. I also often relive special moments to comfort myself. I think I have a pretty good memory, but of course it can't be compared to a pensieve. Missing me again - little conveniences in the magical world, I don't know what to do without them. Those times that I reminisce over and over again are almost worn out in my mind - but I heard that constantly reminiscing about the past can enhance my memory. That may be true, but even so - I still forgot something. Through my worn-out memory, I vaguely saw that it was midsummer, and Aberforth and Ariana stayed at home. We walked along the waterwheel diversion channel built by Muggles, strolled by the stream in Godric's Hollow, and discussed in depth how to modify the conservation laws in the blood curse. When passing by the windows of those elders, we would bend down and slip by in tacit agreement. After walking for a while, we sat side by side by the stream, took off our boots, dipped our feet in the water and dangled back and forth. You were playing with a silver knife - with your soft and beautiful hands - and you whispered that we had better find the Resurrection Stone first. At that time, we were guessing how much magic a drop of blood could stir up. So you pierced your thumb, and the blood immediately condensed into beads, bright red and charming under the sunlight. This makes me excited. I dipped the tip of the wand into the bright red between your fingers, and the blood droplets disappeared in an instant. The power that came from it made my hair stand on end and my whole body shook. Damn it - there is nothing more convenient than this. Even manipulating fate can't compare to how exciting it is. There is no Muggle-like nonsense, only the vibration of the soul and the instinctive pleasure. This is what I miss most about magic. You, you must still have this power, you have always been so strong and so talented. The magic burns every cell in your body, even beyond sex - can you still feel that simple and primitive pleasure after so many years? But - looking back at the memory. We were there, your blood melting into my wand, and I tore a hollow piece of wood into thousands of silk ribbons with a flick of my wrist, effortlessly yet so powerfully. Then you handed me the knife, and I pressed it back into your hand. We were close to each other, breathing together, and you scratched my thumb with the blade - in short, you have to try it the other way around. Then you lit the water with my blood, so touching, just like you. We laughed and took notes, then slowly put out the fire. I already began to imagine applying this beautiful magic to the Dark Curse; I hummed the incantation under my breath. We were partners, but we had never thought about tapping into this latent power in each other—giving each other our blood willingly, and you know what that means. Afterwards we lay panting by the river embankment. I lay in your lap and you absentmindedly ran your hands through my hair and tangled it around your fingertips. The sun was bright, the bushes were lush, and the knife thrown on the grass shimmered. We chatted happily, and then I mentioned looking for the artifact— "Look for the resurrection stone first," you said. I moved, looked up at you, and asked curiously, "Why?" "Because once we have... Even their ghosts, just ghosts coming back." Like a kitten, I gently fiddled with your hanging hair, "Albus, this is pointless." You have no explanation. I guess you want your parents to come back and take care of Aberforth and Ariana, and then you can fly away with me? I thought at that time, how considerate you are, this is not ironic. After that, we talked some more, but that's not why I remember that day. The reason is that you stood up suddenly at that time, causing me to fall off your lap, and then you cast a hiding spell around us. When I put the entire memory into writing, the memory became even longer and blurry. If I remember correctly, before this, we had touched each other clumsily like children. But by that stream, your hair was better than fire in the sunshine. Because of the concealment of magic and the buzz of insects in the bushes, we pleased each other for the first time. Although it is difficult to put it into writing, I will never forget it - at that time, you took off your gold-rimmed glasses and smiled at me, innocent and cunning. You stared at me, as if inadvertently, sliding one side of the glasses over your lips, so hungry and so heart-wrenching. Then you took off your robe, then your cotton undershirt, and I remember laughing, surprised and delighted, and telling you that the water here was too shallow to swim. You were incredibly beautiful back then, and so was I - from the look in your eyes, I could see that you were fascinated by me. But now, I'm afraid we are all old, withered, withered, and unforgivable and unforgivable. Our robes were pillowed against the bushes, and there were ants crawling around the hems of the robes. We groped each other awkwardly and greedily. When I touch you, you feel like your soul is flying out of your body, trembling with excitement. We all have fair skin that can easily turn red with pleasure. I remember holding your face tightly with my hands, watching you being overwhelmed by the feverish pleasure, your face flushed, and my heart beating like a drum beating like a deer hitting, I couldn't help myself, because you are mine. Do you still remember, I used my hands to seduce you? One hand pulled your hair hard to make you lean back, while the other hand held it. Under my teasing, you couldn't help but scream for me. Remember all this? Or are you still feeling shy? You panted and turned over, wiping off the green leaves that had been splashed all over your body by the blades of grass during your orgasm. Your limbs were limp and weak but you were laughing endlessly, still wanting to finish. I still remember, I was lying among the pile of messy robes, and you leaned over, your hair gently scraping my skin, your fingers tightly wrapped around it, from the tip to the root, your lips slipped across it and included it. At that moment, fireworks exploded, it was indescribable - Later, covered with sticky sweat, sun kisses and grass juice, we felt like we were children again, chasing each other, laughing and cursing. At that moment - we were lying side by side, your head in my arm, and I said, "Look at that cloud, it looks like a drunken Hippogriff, Merlin is up there, but luckily Bagshot can't see what we look like now," and then you said - I forgot. Albus, this keeps me up at night and haunts me. I couldn't help but think of the story I once heard about a ghost who had forgotten the last line of his favorite poem and would not rest until a wandering scholar recited it. My old friend, you have a pensieve. By the way, I also told you about that guy Voldemort. You owe me. Best wishes, Gellert Grindelwald
Dane, a bastard, still likes warm men like Luo Wei. . .
80% At one time and 90% at another... How much is it?